Flourish & Blotts
by theckel
Summary: Who else to fit the job at Flourish & Blotts other than Hermione Granger? ... and Draco Malfoy. Two-shot.
1. The First Bit

**HELP WANTED:**  
_Like books?  
Going to be free this holiday?  
Don't want to be spotted pining for your ex-significant other?_

_**Why not sign up for a job at Flourish & Blotts!**__  
Ask poster for more details._

* * *

**x**

* * *

Grinning to herself as she took down the piece of paper from behind the shop's window, Hermione once again thanked Merlin that she hadn't been too late to get herself an interview for the exclusive position. Rumour had it that _Gilderoy Lockhart himself _was going to be stopping by again this year for a book signing. In which case… in which case… _she _would be the one assisting him!

Hermione let out a small, involuntary squeal from her build-up of too-happy emotions, which she quickly covered up with a cough. How immature. She composed herself, and gleefully crushed the poster into a nice little ball, flicking it into the trash can. It shouted angrily at her whilst it was airborne ("I DO NOT BELONG IN THE TRASH AFTER HAVING TO ENDURE CROWDS OF GIGGLING CHILDREN ASKING ME WHAT A SIGNIFICANT OTHER IS!"), but Hermione paid no mind.

It was her first day, and she was working at Floursh & Blotts.

"Granger? _Granger!_" a voice called from behind the door of the office.

"Huh – oh, Mr Ponneth?" she said sheepishly, as she pushed open the door.

Harry Ponneth ("Pon-NUHTH, not pon-NEHTH," he insisted) was the assistant manager, with his son, Harry Ponneth Jr., acting as his assistant. Hermione had never seen the manager, though of course, she was incredibly interested. But, she tried to keep questions and queries to a minimum, since she was more interested in keeping her new job.

"About time," huffed the man, as he unconsciously tried to hide his growing bald spot by shaking his head. Hermione stifled a giggle. "I need you to rearrange some of the books – near the display and the ones in the corner by the clock. You know which one I'm talking about?"

She nodded, with a sinking feeling. "Of course, Mr Ponneth."

"There's a new shipment of _Ultide's Guide to Magical Mushrooms: Volume I _to _V_, and we have to make space for it on the shelves," explained Mr Ponneth, "so I want you to clear off the ones nearest to the window, and shift those books into that space, then move the cleared ones to the place near the corner – but not into it, mind you. Put some older books there. Have you got all that? And it's a recipe book, so make sure you categorise it properly."

"Yes, sir," Hermione said glumly.

He noticed her expression, and opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it, instead giving her an empathetic smile. "Manager says someone's got to do it, and I've things to finish here," he said apologetically. Hermione appreciated the sympathy, but the irony that it was still _her _having to crawl into that cobweb-filled, dust congregation area was biting her in the arse. She left the room with a wry smile.

* * *

**x**

* * *

After three long hours, sweating despite the chilly weather and receiving pitying looks from visitors, Hermione was finally finished with clearing and re-stocking the display area with _Ultide's Guide_s (that contained…_curious _recipes like 'The Big Mushy' and 'Musing Mushrooms' and all had a funny, fungus-like smell to them that made her head feel light).

She heaved another cardboard box full of mouldy books – and one that was flapping under the weight of all the others, as if intent on making her drop it on her own foot – cursing the Ministry for making that stupid underage magic law while she struggled to navigate through the many shelves and to the corner she so dreaded.

Hermione scowled in disgust at a spider that scuttled away from her, brushing back few tangles of hair that had escaped her messy ponytail away from her sweaty forehead. She was positive her face would be black with dust, but didn't want to risk looking.

The corner smelt like wet, old _muffins_, and looked even worse. The only sound you could hear was the ticking grandfathers' clock and occasional angry book, the sounds and noises of the street dimmed by being so deep in, and muffled by the numerous pages. It would have been a nice place to read, she supposed, if it weren't for the fact that the only space to sit in was the same place where discarded bookmarks were kept (why was there even a box for old _bookmarks_ in the first place?), and the lighting consisted of an overhanging lamp, which was somehow filled with dead bugs.

No longer caring about dirt, she plonked herself down in an awkward position leaning against the box, and proceeded to tackle the challenge of the haphazard books on the bottom shelf, coughing every shove or so. Her monotone task continued for another ten minutes, until the sound of crashing books filled the quiet shop, followed by a few yells. She groaned inwardly, knowing that Mr Ponneth would definitely put her in charge of the happy job of clearing up the books.

"I don't _know _what bloody _corner_ he's spouting about," snapped a chillingly familiar voice.

"Draco, language!" came an equally clipped, but more elegant reply.

_Please don't let them find it, please don't let them find it, please don't let them –_

"Is this it, dear?"

_Of course they found it,_ she thought bitterly. Then, _please don't let them see me, please don't let them see me, please don't let them see –_

"AAAUGH! MOTHER! GHOST!"

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Hermione said curtly.

"Granger?" he asked, looking like his pale skin was glowing like those glow-in-the-dark stars she had had so much trouble getting off her ceiling. He had no right to call _her_ a ghost. "You look like shit," he said happily.

"What's going on here?" Narcissa asked, also turning into the corner, which was now getting quite busy, for a section of a bookshop. "Oh my, it's you?"

Hermione bristled, and stood up. "Yes, it's me," she replied dryly.

"We may have to have second thoughts," said Narcissa, turning to her son and completely ignoring Hermione now that she knew she was there.

"Thank Merlin!"

"We'll discuss it at home. Now come along, away from this horrid Flourish & Plots," she said, warranting no further conversation, as she turned on her heel and quickly made her way away from the place for fear of contamination by Other Things.

"What are you doing here?" asked Hermione, suspiciously.

"None of your business," Draco snapped back sourly. "I'm getting a book, obviously. Or did you not register that that's what bookshops are for?" he said anyway.

"I work here, so it _is _my business," she retorted.

"Just get me my sodding book."

"Yes, because you've told me in such detail what is it that you want."

He scowled further. "That," he said sharply, pointing at a book in a fashion she thought was rather random.

"Fine," she replied, just as brusque, grabbing it roughly and shoving it into his hands. He turned around without a word and walked away.

* * *

**x**

* * *

The next day promised a better day at work, what with Mr Ponneth's assurances that there were no more new books coming in, and she would be free to roam the shop and help customers on their learning journeys as they came. Hermione entered the shop at nine o'clock sharp, smiling at the tinkling of the little bell, and approached the desk where Ponneth Jr. sat with an air of self-importance. "I'm here for work!" she declared professionally, it being the first time she had said it.

"Yeah, whatever."

"I'm going to go… do my duty!"

"Yeah, whatever."

"And serve customers with a smile!"

"Yeah, whatever."

"And eat Ultide's mushrooms!"

"Yeah, whatever."

"Sod off," she sneered.

"What did you say?" he asked, looking up from his newspaper sharply.

"Socks… off. It's good for your feet!" she said, smiling brightly.

"Right, whatever."

She stomped off to the textbook section of the store.

* * *

**x**

* * *

Hermione had been hit by books thrice, scared from behind a shelf twice, and trodden on five times, by the time it was twelve. She had also been praised seven times, 'wow'-ed at twelve times, and thanked countless numbers of times. It was time for her well-deserved lunch, and she proudly walked out of the entrance and to the coffee shop, where she ordered a coffee and a sandwich. Munching on her small meal, her eyes caught sight of a lanky figure. Who was, unfortunately, blond and not red-headed. Along with his equally lanky mother. Walking into… Flourish & Blotts. Again.

She finished off her lunch quickly, downing the burning coffee in one go (and regretting it), hurrying back to Flourish & Blotts, curious despite herself. Inside, the little bell tinkled, but she heard no reaction. Hermione took a tentative step forward; no hexes were cast. A good sign. She took another step; no fires or anything. She took a third –

_Ting, ting._

Hermione watched as Narcissa Malfoy's elegant coattails disappeared out of sight. She exhaled, both annoyed but relieved that the woman had just swept passed her without acknowledging her. "It's a good thing that demon lady's gone now, isn't it?" she said with a smile, seeing Ponneth Jr.'s pale, sickly face.

"Yes… yes, very good. Good. Indeed," he muttered in reply.

"I'll be going back to work, then."

"Yes… yes, of course. Course? Indeed…"

Mentally shaking her head, Hermione decided that today, she would read up on this curious creature called a _Nitwickle_. Most people doubted their existence, but naturally, there was much material on it available, courtesy of the Quibbler.

_Ting, ting._

She had barely sat down, but Hermione didn't mind. Customers! She quickly put the book back in its place, and literally scampered to the door. There was no one there, so she looked left, then right, then up. Odd. With a puzzled expression, she turned around to return to that _adorable _diagram of a Nitwickle.

_Ting, ting._

Hermione squeaked in shock, then covered her mouth and took a deep breath and told herself she was being silly, then turned around with a bright smile on her face to greet… no one. Even more puzzled now, and perhaps slightly annoyed, she wondered if there was something wrong with the bell. But it wasn't magical in the slightest (except for the magical string that tied it to the door knob), and it _looked_ all right…

_Ting, ting!_

Hermione whipped around, huge grin plastered on face, and, as she'd suspected, there was no one there. "_Yes?!_" she asked, loudly and angrily. "May I _help _you?!"

Then, she heard a snicker.

Slowly, she turned around, fuming.

And sure enough, there was Malfoy, walking out from behind a bookshelf, smirk in place.

"What," she asked, low and menacing (and very, very annoyed), "are you doing here?"

He smiled mockingly at her, baring all his teeth.

"Granger, is that really how you should treat a fellow co-worker?"

* * *

**x**

* * *

"_How _could you let _him _work in Flourish & Blotts?!"

"I'd much rather not be here."

"I _assure _you that it's in the best of interests, Granger!"

"Who _is_ our bloody manager, anyway?!"

"Right, whatever."

"There was nothing I could do to stop Narcissa!"

"You're _twenty-one_, Ponneth, expand your vocabulary."

"Whose idea is this, anyway? It's not funny!"

"You haven't got a right to call mother by her first name."

"He's going to ruin _everything!_"

"Now, I think that's going a little too far! You are _both _at the same level of authority!"

"What did you do, anyway? Decide not to turn up for your mother's tea party or something and piss her off?"

"Bloody moron, of course not."

"I don't see why you can't work with him!"

"You've _got _to be kidding me! He's _Malfoy!_"

"This is just Flourish & Bloots."

"IT'S _FLOURISH & BLOTTS!_" Hermione and Mr Ponneth yelled at the same time.

* * *

**x**

* * *

"Line them up _properly!_" hissed Hermione.

"Who cares? It's not like people walk in here and go, 'why, what pleasantly lined up books they've got here! Shall we buy one?', do they?" he snapped in reply.

"It's called _working_."

"It's called _being stupid_."

* * *

**x**

* * *

"Help me get that cup of coffee."

"No."

"You agreed to just now!" Hermione spluttered.

"Well, I'm disagreeing now, aren't I?"

"Piss off, Malfoy."

"Go to hell."

* * *

**x**

* * *

"You want… a book… on how to make you… pretty," Hermione repeated uneasily.

"Yep!" the little girl replied. "I'm not so, you see, but you are, miss, so I guess that you'd be able to help me find one!"

"Re–really, what makes you think that?"

"Well, see, if you're pretty, then you'd be able to make me pretty!"

"I'm not too sure about that," Hermione said gently.

"No, no, it's true!" the pint-sized witch insisted. "And we've even got the same hair colour, see?"

He decided that this would be the optimal time to 'help' Hermione. "Can't argue with logic like hair colour," Draco said seriously.

Hermione threw him an exasperated look. "Well, I'm really sorry, but we don't have books like that," she said.

"But – but… you're pretty! You have to have books like that!"

"I'm quite sure we don't… where's your mommy?"

"But mommy said… waaaah!"

"No, no! I mean, yes! Yes, we have them!" said Hermione, flustered.

"We do?" Draco asked, widening his eyes in mock surprise. Granger glared at him while she tried to comfort the girl.

"Shhh, shh, look – here's one!" she cried, grabbing the nearest purple and pink book she could see.

The girl tried to read it, taking the book cocking her head, "For… wee-zah... oh, wizards! For wizards… one-zero-one ways to en… un… enhan… enhankay… you-err se… seeeeh…"

Hermione's eye widened in horror, and she quickly yanked _For Wizards: 101 Ways to Enhance Your Sex Appeal!_ out of her hands.

"The pretty book! Give me the pretty book!" the girl stormed angrily.

"I – here's a _prettier_ book!"

The girl went very quiet, and stared up at Hermione, who shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "You're lying!"

"No, no, I'm not!"

"YOU'RE LYING!" she screamed, "MOMMY!"

They watched as the girl ran out of the shop, across the street, and grabbed the attention of a woman, pointing angrily in Hermione's direction.

"Tsk, and you were supposed to make her pretty," Draco drawled.

"It's not funny."

"You're _mean,_ Granger."

* * *

**x**

* * *

"Malfoy! Granger!"

"What _now_?" Hermione groaned.

Draco wanted to disagree with her just to annoy her, but realised that he couldn't. What now, indeed.

* * *

**x**

* * *

"GRANGER! HOW DO YOU GET THIS BOOK TO SHUT?!"

Looking up, Granger ran over to where he was, and wrestled the book onto the floor, where she whacked it quickly once in the middle, hard. It stopped moving, and started purring instead.

"That's creepy."

"Yeah, it is."

* * *

**x**

* * *

"Oh, so _now_ you want to get me coffee."

"Yes, in fact, I do."

"Why?"

"Just thought I'd be nice to the less fortunate."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "You've spiked it."

"Damn. Stop being smart."

* * *

**x**

* * *

"Granger?" Draco asked again, holding the odd object in his hand. He wasn't sure what it was, but it was definitely something she would want to see. It was a small box that spat out different colours of slips of paper, depending on what you asked it. Well, that was what he thought, anyway.

For instance, "are boxes better than cylinders?" would get you a green slip, while "don't you think that paper is a little unimpressive?" would get you many red slips.

Whatever it was, it was definitely amusing, since when asked, "what the hell are you, anyway?" it had a tendency to get upset and spew rainbow-coloured confetti at the asker. He was hoping she would ask it that. Where _was _she? He heard voices, somewhere over _there_…

"This place is _huge_," said the Weasel.

"We can't have already searched everywhere."

"Sorry, Hermione, I really do think we _have_…"

Great. The Golden Trio. He scowled angrily, annoyed at having even wanted to show someone who held such _company _something he'd found.

* * *

**x**

* * *

Lunchtime found Hermione and Draco leaned against one of the shelves nearer to the back of the shop, _Hogwarts: A History_ and _Quidditch: A History_ between them.

Hermione put a fry in her mouth, put her packet of fries down, and picked up her book again. Malfoy made a choking sound. She glanced over at him, but saw him eating just as she was, and so returned to her reading.

She picked up another fry. Malfoy choked. That was strange, he didn't seem to be having many problems with his food…

She tried it again, and slowly raised another fry to her lips –

There it was!

Trying her hardest not to smirk, Hermione deliberately took another fry.

Finally, Malfoy snapped.

"Bloody hell Granger! Don't get oil on that book! I know you don't like Quidditch, but _Merlin_!"

"We _do _know magic, don't we?"

"Yes – but –" his voice was oddly strangled, "it's a matter – matter of principle."

"_Principles_, huh? Who knew you had them?" she asked, taking another fry.

He all but cringed.

* * *

**x**

* * *

"Malfoy, what do you say when people ask you to recommend books?"

"I don't."

"Yes, but, what do you _say_?"

"I tell them I don't read."

"… well, I tell them it's impossible for me to find a book for _them_ since I hardly know them, much less what they would enjoy! It's completely unreasonable to have such high expectations when it comes to personal satisfaction! If you're looking for something to make _you_ feel good you should be searching for it yourself, how can someone – much less a stranger – possibly have got you figured out to the point that they can find something that would suit you, considering that everyone is so _complex_. How unbelievably _unrealistic_ and I honestly think it's could be a reflection of how they see others and themselves which just does not bode well for any of us in this generation, does it?!"

"I reckon you should stop after the first line." Draco said, feigning boredom. "Absolutely _no one_ would listen to you about how self-entitled they are, or what idiosyncratic standards they hold for –"

_Wait. This is showing I listened to it all._

"– ehm, yeah. Stop after the first line," he stopped awkwardly, and then threw in an insult just for good measure.

Hermione, always the sharp one, had noticed exactly what he had done, and appreciated both his attention and his effort to remain nonchalant for his ego. "Fine," she said, sighing dramatically. And then threw in an insult, just for good measure.

* * *

**x**

* * *

As she led the family around the corner, Malfoy looked up with a very sheepish look on his face, and quickly stashed _Magic and Fish – How to Raise the Perfect Magical Aquarium_ back into its place.

* * *

**x**

* * *

The pair had been talking about cooking, when Hermione mentioned Jamie Oliver. Draco wanted to understand this reference, thus forcing Hermione to explain the concept behind a show such as 'The Naked Chef'. ("NO! He's not _really_ naked!"

After quite a bit of elaboration on 'television', 'celebrity chef', and 'channels', Draco was still incredibly confused. "So… you watch a man… cooking… for an hour."

"Yes, but, well, he _teaches_ you how to."

"What if you've got a question?"

"He… you can't really ask him, so… you've got to go on the net, I suppose. And you could ask there."

"How would using a net help? You're not _fishing_ are you?"

"I mean the Internet. Net is short for Internet. You know, websites, forums, that sort of thing."

Malfoy blinked owlishly at her.

Hermione sighed.

"The Internet is like this massive…"

That day, Malfoy learnt much about Muggles.


	2. The Second Bit

Hermione was having a terrible day.

Crookshanks had woken her up by desperately scratching her arm for food (even when his bowl was full of dry kibble, he wanted canned food, the greedy bastard) at five in the morning.

Then she had burnt her own toast. How did one even burn toast when they were using an electrical toaster?!

On her way to Flourish and Blotts, she had tried to buy breakfast. At the last minute, she had called out to the lady that she preferred sunny side-up eggs rather than scrambled eggs, causing the lady to drop said eggs, making smashed raw eggs. Which was not, in fact, what either of them wanted.

Hermione had been shouted at for being a nuisance and chased out of the little shop, still hungry.

When she reached the store, she found that there was a new shipment of _Ultide's Guide_s.

She was stuffing the books as unceremoniously as possible into their places on the shelves when a voice interrupted her.

"Coffee, Granger?"

"I AM NOT IN THE MOOD TO ARGUE WITH YOU ABOUT POISON OR FETCHING COFFEE," she snapped, and shoved particularly hard.

The shelf rocked precariously, and they both leaped to steady it.

"Calm _down_," he muttered, glaring disapprovingly at her.

She went back to her stuffing without a word.

Finally, Hermione was done, and felt more defeated than anything.

On the desk, she found a cup of tea next to the book she had left there.

Scrawled on it in messy handwriting was,

'not coffee since you're already bloody keyed up.

also not poison.

may or may not be warm depending on when you finish destroying the shelf.'

It was completely cold, but Hermione still felt warm.

* * *

**x**

* * *

The situation was dire.

All three watched with serious expressions.

A move was made.

A single intake of breath, shocked and terrified.

"Checkmate!" Ron declared.

Harry buried his head in his hands. "Not _again_."

Draco tried his best to pretend he had not been holding his breath, nor had he ground his teeth in frustration, _nor_ had he been rooting for Potter (the underdog, you see). Of course, there was not much else he could pretend to be doing (ever since the pair had started their game, Draco had become unusually interested in the cash register, as it was near their table).

He reckoned that if Potter had moved his knight to E5 disaster could have been averted, and he could not help but share his opinion. He muttered this to Granger while Potter and Weasley were arguing.

"Not you _too_," she groaned.

* * *

**x**

* * *

Granger had worn a thick skirt that day, given that winter was coming and the air was cooling. It was a very appropriate length (just seven inches above the back of her knee) (_no_, Draco had _not _been staring for _that_ long – seven was just an estimate! Honest!), and she wore it with an appropriate jumper over an appropriate shirt.

It was, however, still a skirt.

From where he sat at a desk reading (it was a particularly slow day), Draco could see her reaching up for a book. Granger was tip-toeing, one hand on a lower shelf and another stretching as high as she could.

Her raised arm pulled up her appropriate jumper and her appropriate shirt and her appropriate skirt.

More and more of her thighs were showing. And as much as Draco hated it, he could see pale, smooth, soft skin. Then she hopped, and despite how appropriate her clothing was, he caught a glimpse of her pale, smooth, soft waist.

_I want to touch her._

The desire washed over him so strongly that he had stood and covered the distance between them in a few quick strides.

Then he was handing her the book and staring at the floor and snapping at her. "For Merlin's sake, just get a stool next time."

"… thanks," Hermione said slowly, surprised at his sudden appearance and irritation.

_And stop bloody wearing skirts._

* * *

**x**

* * *

Draco was arranging the display at the front of the shop, when the all-too-familiar bell that signifying a customer's entrance rang. He ignored it, and continued stacking books in what he hoped was a fashionable manner.

"Excuse me," piped up a small voice.

_Sounds like a snobby kid,_ he thought maliciously, _have fun, Granger._

"Excuse me."

_Oh, great. Why is he talking to me? _"Go ask the nice lady for help," Draco said, not turning around.

"Excuse me, mister," the child insisted again.

_Where the hell is Granger?!_

"Mister, I want to get good at chess."

"Be good at."

"Pardon?"

"You want to _be_ good at chess, not _get_ good at," Draco sneered, finally looking at the boy.

He was not deterred. "Mister, I want to be good at chess."

"You can't be any good at it just by reading a book," Draco snapped. _How annoying._

"I know. I will read a book and then play chess and then be good at it."

"_Fine_, I'll find you a bloody chess book. What do you know already?"

"You shouldn't swear, mister," the boy said primly, "and I know the rules."

Draco glared. "Do you know what _en passant_ is?"

"No, I –"

"Then you don't know the rules."

The boy soldiered on, undaunted. "Then what is _en passant_?"

"It's a special capture that the pawn can use, when…"

The rest was lost to Hermione, who had been watching the exchange, and she was convinced that Malfoy had just thrown out a random French term to confuse the poor boy. Nevertheless, she saw an amusing similarity between them, and quickly got out the chess board.

"… do you understand?"

"A bit. So if I move my pawn –"

"_No_," Malfoy interrupted, "you have to do it on the very next turn."

"Why don't you show him?" Hermione asked suddenly, smiling brightly and pointing at the chess board.

Draco whipped around and looked at her, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Where did you come from?"

"Doesn't matter."

"… fine. Come here, boy."

**o**

Two hours later, the bell rung again, and a frantic woman burst into the store. She went right up to Hermione. "I'm sorry, but my son may have come in here a while back – he's this tall, and –"

"Yes, he's right here," Hermione grinned, and led the woman to where the boy and Malfoy were sat at the board. "But I think they're in the middle of a game right now, do you mind waiting?"

"Oh! How long will they take?"

"Typically, Malfoy wins in just a few moves, but then they go over it for a while and he explains some strategies, so it takes a while longer."

"That's fine, I suppose. I'm just relieved I've found him, I could use a bit of a rest to catch my breath. But what a nice young man!"

"Uhm, yes, I suppose you could say so…"

**o**

Three games and a cup of tea later, the boy and his mother finally bid the store farewell. The boy promised to return and Draco assured him that he should not, saying that he would not talk to someone so terrible at chess again. Regardless, the boy said that he "better have the board prepared". Draco snorted.

"See, that wasn't so bad," Hermione said, grinning.

"Are you joking? Those were the most boring games I've played in my life."

**o**

The next Tuesday, he was back. And the Tuesday after that. And after that. And after that.

Hermione regularly prepared tea for them both, and always agreed with Malfoy that it was "a complete and utter waste of time". Which he said every time.

* * *

**x**

* * *

He felt like shit.

"Are you _sure_ you don't want me to help you get home?"

"Granger, it's just a cold, and I'm not a baby."

"Well… if you say so."

The small smile she gave him was enough to make him want to call her back and keep her prisoner.

* * *

**x**

* * *

"Malfoy."

"What." He didn't even look up.

"I suggest you start grovelling now."

"And why might that be?"

"I've found your stash," she declared triumphantly.

"… stash of what?" He peered at her over his book.

"You really want me to say it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Your stash of _chick flicks_."

"That's probably yours, Granger."

"They are not!" she snapped. "Anyway, you'd better go return them to the shelves. A customer was looking for a copy, and I think you've got some of the last ones."

"I would, if I knew where they were. I told you, stupid, it's not mine."

"Well, we're the only ones who work here! It's not mine so it can't possibly belong to anyone else –"

She stopped, mouth still open.

He met her gaze with a similarly terrified one.

They said it together, in a low whisper of horror.

"… Ponneth Jr."

* * *

**x**

* * *

Hermione watched as a slightly (fine, very) sexy witch sauntered into the shop, managing to make the tinkling of the bell compliment her somehow. She sidled right up to Malfoy, who had been stacking some books and now looked slightly annoyed (much to Hermione's guilty pleasure). She took out a piece of paper, and showed it to him. His eyebrows furrowed, and then he shook his head.

She said something, and leaned rather lower than was required, while Malfoy started nodding very quickly, with an eager look on his face. A surly expression crossed her sultry features for just a moment, almost too short to be recognizable, before she plastered on the same smile she had come in with.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the stranger as she approached her. When she did, she whispered, "got him to sign a petition for bananas! Boys can never resist my charms," with a wink, and then walked out the door.

When she had left, Hermione walked up to where Malfoy was standing on a stool again and storing books. "The banana petition? Really?" she asked, scowling just thinking about it.

"What're you going on about? That was my cousin," he replied, trying to reach a book on one of the lower shelves.

Hermione passed it to him, and he nodded his thanks, before looking up again to find a place for it. "Oh? What did she want?"

"Asked me to be her date for some gala."

"And?"

"I said no, of course," Malfoy said, seemingly getting irritated.

"Then what did she say after that?"

"She asked if I wanted her to leave. You're nosy, Granger. Sod off."

"All right," she said happily, then passed him another book, "and here you go."

He looked at her as she walked away, a puzzled frown on his face. "Weird."

* * *

**x**

* * *

"You mean we get the day off?"

"Yes, yes, the both of you. Now, shoo!"

They did.

Outside the door, they looked at each other.

"Feels funny," Hermione said, "having time after not having any for so many weeks."

"Yeah, it does."

"So. Want get some lunch?"

"All right," he replied, surprised.

"You're paying."

"I should've known," he mused while they walked.

**o**

"Wow," Hermione said happily, "it's been a while since I had ice cream."

"This isn't lunch," Draco complained, looking around at the… _frilly_ interior of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor.

They bought their ice cream, her, vanilla with coffee, and him, mint chocolate, and sat down at one of the many tables looking out at Diagon Alley.

"I never thought you were the mint chocolate type," Hermione said.

"There's a mint chocolate type?" he asked sarcastically, taking a spoonful of it. It wasn't lunch, but he had to admit it was good.

She shrugged in reply. "Anyway, you never really told me why you've got to _work_."

"I told mother I don't have time for her parties."

"And she made you work because of that?"

"It was phrased differently, at the time," he smirked.

"Right. Well, you've gotten better."

Draco was slightly offended. "What, exactly, are you implying?"

"It's not _that _bad working with you now," she said with a laugh.

"Yes, well, you're still as horrible."

"And hence having ice cream with me?"

**o**

Despite the fact that neither asked the other, they mutually agreed to spend the rest of the day together (after much unnecessary reasoning, during which they both tried to make it clear that they didn't _want _to, it would just be for the good of mankind, indeed. "It's too short of a notice to just go home," "of course, and everyone would be busy," "yeah, definitely, there's no point," "it would save everyone trouble if we just hung around here," "so it's settled?" "settled.").

They mainly wandered around aimlessly, browsing random shops, and making snide comments about odd things, most of them quite rude. After a while, Hermione felt rather uncultured, and so insisted that they go to the Scribbulus Everchanging Inks, for her to buy another quill.

"How would _that_ culture you?" Draco asked her incredulously.

"It just will."

"Why do you need a new one?" he asked, changing the topic as they entered the shop.

"Lost it at the store a while back," she said sadly.

Noticing her change in tone, he asked, "Was it special?"

"Huh? Oh, it was a gift from my mother, when she accepted that I was a 'real witch'."

"Oh. Well. It's fine now, since you're replacing it, isn't it?"

"No," she snapped suddenly, "it's called _sentimental value_."

"It's just a quill," he retorted, bristling.

"To you, since you've got pretty much no feelings."

He glared at her. "Are you sure about that?"

"Positive," she sniffed.

He left, as always, without a word.

And now she was bored, too. Brilliant.

* * *

**x**

* * *

He had made sure to check that Potty and Weasel weren't anywhere in the shop. Then, he'd found her, cross-legged and pondering over a book.

"Granger."

She looked up. "Yes?"

He tossed the quill gently onto her lap.

"What's – oh, my gosh. _Where_ did you find it?" she asked, beaming.

"The corner," he said, trying to act cool, but failing since it was clear he was elated.

And also slightly insane. For being elated.

He cleared his throat. "I'm… er… sorry. For what I said."

"Oh! It's all right, Malfoy. I didn't really mean it when I said what I did, either…" Hermione bit her lip, trailing off awkwardly and fidgeting with her quill and smiling nervously at the floor. She very well knew that Malfoy was, in fact, astonishingly capable of being nice – even _pleasant_, sometimes – but she was definitely not used to having him so… direct about it.

Draco, on the other hand, was staring at her.

S_he'ssodifferentit'ssostrangeIdon'tknowhowtodealwithherhangont hat'srubbishItalktoherallthetime !MerlinwhydoesGrangerhavetobi teherlipit'sadorableshe'sadorablewhenshetalksaboutth ebooksshelikesandsheischewin gitnowIneedtodosomethingbefo reI – _

"I _do _have feelings. Want me to prove it to you?" he asked impulsively, with a rakish grin.

"Come off it, I already said I didn't–mmph."

He broke the kiss, just long enough to tell her,

"I've got feelings for you."

* * *

**x x**

* * *

**an**; So! I just edited this story. I moved around a lot of scenes. Added a whole bunch more. It's about twice as long now. I hope you enjoy the new additions. Let me know what you think. I do hope you enjoyed it!


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